


remember tonight (for it's the beginning of always)

by Remy (iamremy)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Spoilers for Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 12:37:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2309903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamremy/pseuds/Remy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The problem with being grounded is that Stiles has nothing to keep his mind off things. Things of the <em>frequent nightmares about Derek dying</em> and <em>holy shit I have a crush on Derek</em> variety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	remember tonight (for it's the beginning of always)

**Author's Note:**

> This has been bouncing around in my head ever since the finale aired. I've managed to write it down in sporadic bursts of energy and motivation, coupled with random Mountain Dew binges. I feel like a fuckin zombie.
> 
> I have a Sterek problem, can you tell?
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own jack shit. I don't even own the fuckin computer I wrote this on.

**1**

Stiles is fucked. Stiles is well and truly fucked.

He prides himself on being smart, and he’s proven it on numerous occasions but because karma is a bitch and his life is a long, tragic saga of irony, his smarts are not much good when it comes to his love life.  That would probably explain why he tried to help Malia and it ended up being a relationship (not that he minds, okay, he really does like her – it’s just that it takes him some time to realize that this is not the kind of relationship he wants). Should probably also explain why it took him around fifty billion years to understand that maybe, all Lydia wants from him is friendship and nothing more.

And it _definitely_ explains why it took, you know, _DEREK GETTING STABBED AND TOTALLY NEARLY DYING_ for Stiles to understand _those_ particular feelings.

So yes. Feelings. Stiles is smart but not when it comes to feelings. He’s successfully managed to procrastinate the entire process of realizing that all the butterflies in his stomach, the strange feeling in his chest when he looks at Derek, the way seeing Derek happy makes _him_ happy, and how he wants nothing but for Derek to always be happy and safe – that all these feelings mean that what he feels for Derek isn’t friendship but more.

Stiles is, in fact, very much in like with Derek. A lot of like. So much like that just thinking about it makes him shiver a little with the intensity of it.

Unfortunately, as is the running theme in Stiles’s life (Malia is an outlier and should not be counted), he can’t actually do something about this intense like. Mainly because Derek and Braeden are totally a thing. And Stiles knows they totally do the do. The thought makes him a little sick, mainly because imagining Derek naked does things to him. And also intimidates him a little. Those fucking _abs_.

So yes. Terribly inconvenient that Stiles just has to realize these Derek feelings when the subject of said feelings is not actually single.

Not to mention, if Derek ever finds out, he’s totally going to raise his judgmental eyebrows of judgment at Stiles, and then mention how utterly and completely straight he is. So very straight. As a fucking arrow.

The thought makes Stiles feel sad.

**2**

But the thing is, even if Derek _was_ available and _did_ like him back, it’s not like Stiles can do much. Because his dad has grounded him for the rest of his life. To quote, it's something like this,

“Your ass is grounded until it’s time for your first regular colonoscopy, and I don’t give a damn if I’m dead at that time. _I will rise from the grave and ground you again, do you hear me?”_

And then he’d waited for Stiles’s miserable nod before releasing him from the handcuffs.

Stiles would say it’s not fair at all, but it is and he deserves it. His dad’s starting to grow white hair, and there’s some extra wrinkles, and it’s _all his fault._

**3**

The problem is that because he’s grounded, there’s not much he can do other than sit at home and mope and pout and _pine_. All the fucking pining. So he resorts to fetching a tub of Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and not even bothering with a bowl as he watches Netflix and eats out of the tub with the biggest spoon he could find. He finishes three seasons of _House MD_ in three days, and he ignores his phone unless it’s Scott or his dad.

Of course it’s never Derek. Why would Derek even call him? In fact, come to think of it, he’s not sure Derek even has his number. It’s not like saving the world leaves much time for texting or calling or doing other friendly shit.

Malia comes over the second day after he’s been confined to his house. She’s wearing hiking boots and a jacket, and Stiles raises an eyebrow. “You going somewhere?” he questions.

One of the things he loves about Malia is how she doesn’t sugarcoat anything. “Yeah. I’m leaving,” she announces, and moves to the side so that Stiles can see the duffel bag by her feet. “I’ve got some stuff to do. You can’t come,” she adds at the look on his face. “I want to go alone. I don’t need any distractions.”

There’s a sinking feeling in his gut. She’s breaking up with him, he’s sure of it. Well, shit. He’s known for some time that this was coming, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. He goes for the only way he’s ever been able to deal with bad things in his life – a sense of humor. “So I distract you?” he asks, grinning wide and waggling his eyebrows, even though he feels a little sick and wants nothing more than to go back to bed.

She nods, not going along with the joke at all. “I need to find out who my real mother is,” she tells him seriously. “And I have to do it alone. Obviously, I won’t be asking Peter. And I can’t be distracted, so don’t call or text.”

Stiles drops all pretenses. “So… so you’re breaking up with me?”

She nods apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, and he takes a moment to marvel at how much progress she’s made since he first started helping her out. “I wish there was a nicer way to put this, but I think we would have broken up anyway.”

He considers this. “You’re right,” he finally says. “And if there was a nicer way to put it – well then, you wouldn’t be the Malia I know.” He offers her a small smile.

She returns it, and leans forward to kiss his cheek. “Take care, okay? And don’t worry about me – I’ll be fine.”

He stops her just as she’s turning to go. “Malia,” he says, and his voice cracks a little. “Listen, I know you said not to call or text, and I respect that, but – could you please at least check in with Kira or Lydia? Let them know you’re okay. It would put my mind to rest.”

She thinks for a few seconds, and then nods. “Okay,” she says. “Goodbye, Stiles.”

He watches her drive away, and tries not to contemplate on the finality of her goodbye. She’ll come back safe, though. She has to. She’s still his friend, even if they’re not together anymore.

He goes back inside, locks his door and doesn’t move from in front of the TV until it’s time for his dad to come home.

**4**

Scott calls in the evening, and he doesn’t want to pick up but he does anyway because this is Scotty and they’re always there for each other even if it means talking when you don’t want to. “Hey,” he says into the phone.

“Malia left,” Scott tells him.

“I know,” Stiles replies. “She came to see me before she went. She also broke up with me.”

There is a silence on the other end. “I’m sorry,” Scott says finally.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, shrugging it off and acting like he doesn’t still feel a little sick. “It probably would have happened anyway. So,” he coughs, clears his throat, “how’re you doin’, Scotty?”

And when Scott launches off into the story of his date with Kira, Stiles is only half-listening. He couldn’t have Derek, but at least he had Malia, and now she’s gone too.

**5**

And so the days go by. He sees his friends in school, plays lacrosse with Scott, Liam and Kira and smiles and refuses when they invite him for post-game pizza. He’s put his dad through so much, the least he can do is respect his rules and his grounded status.

But in the end they always just crash at his place and order pizza there, and end up sprawled in various positions in front of the TV, so it’s not that bad. It feels good to know that his friends want his company enough to forego going out and instead confine themselves to his living-room.

**6**

Derek comes over two weeks after the entire Mexico debacle. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, while Stiles just stares with his mouth open at _Derek fucking Hale in his fucking doorway._

He finally settles for, “So you _do_ know what doors are for.”

It’s the perfect icebreaker; Derek’s face shifts from awkward to irritated, and Stiles is glad. This is familiar territory.

He stands to the side and Derek enters his house, and Stiles is still feeling a little overwhelmed and awed because _Derek fucking Hale in his fucking house_. He leads Derek to the living-room – makes sense that Derek hasn’t actually seen any other part of the house, he always just used to climb into Stiles’s window and that’s the only room he’s seen, and shit but out of context that means something else entirely, and now Stiles’s entire body is flushed red and he’s feeling awkward and out of place inside his own fucking house. It doesn’t help that he’s only wearing a thin T-shirt and shorts – it’s a Saturday.

“So,” he manages, once Derek is seated on the couch, looking very much like he’s meeting the President, not a pack member. “What’s up?” He doesn’t sit, doesn’t think he can actually put himself in the same space as Derek without doing something stupid, because the asshole looks particularly good today and Stiles isn’t going to lie, he hates him for it. As if his life isn’t difficult already. So he just stands to the side and fidgets with the hem of his shirt.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing,” Derek says, almost shyly. He’s not looking directly at Stiles, obviously distracted by something. Stiles wants to ask, but doesn’t think he wants to know the answer. _I’m not looking at you because why should I_ isn’t going to do much for his self-esteem. Derek’s not that much of an asshole, but Stiles doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“I’m fine,” Stiles answers, waving a hand about. “Really. Just bored.”

Derek nods. “How long are you grounded for?”

Stiles shrugs. “Until I get my first colonoscopy, according to my dad.”

Predictably, Derek makes a face. “Too much information, idiot,” he mutters, and is it just Stiles or is he blushing a little?

Meh, probably not. Stiles has got to be imagining things.

“I heard about Malia,” Derek says, and Stiles snaps back to attention. Derek’s face is apologetic, like he doesn’t want to bring this up but for whatever convoluted reason feels like he has to. “I,” he clears his throat, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles replies, mouth a little dry. “I’m fine.”

Derek nods again. “Okay.”

There is an awkward silence.

“Do you wanna eat anything?”

“No, it’s fine.”

Finally Stiles gets sick of it, and goes into the kitchen. He returns with a scrap of paper, clearly torn off a Post-It pad, and hands it to Derek. Derek looks down at it, eyebrows drawing into a thick line of confusion. “What…?”

“My number,” Stiles tells him. “It occurred to me that you don’t have it. So I’m giving it to you. For like, emergencies and stuff.”

Derek actually looks amused, and Stiles feels a bit offended but then Derek  pulls out his cellphone, taps around a bit and then shows the screen to Stiles. It’s his number, saved under Stiles. “Oh,” he says, a bit stupidly.

“Yeah,” Derek says. “If I recall correctly – and I’m sure I do – you demanded I save it so that when I called you’d know to refer to me as Cousin Miguel and not ‘murder suspect’ in front of your dad.”

Stiles cringes at the mention of Cousin Miguel. “But you never did call.”

“Didn’t need to,” Derek points out. “We saw each other around enough anyway.”

There’s another awkward silence, and then Stiles asks, “So, uh, how’s Braeden?”

Derek looks up at him incredulously. “Are you making small talk?” he asks, but then apparently decides he doesn’t care. “She’s fine,” he replies shortly. “She’s just not in Beacon Hills, is all.”

That’s news. “Where, then?” asks Stiles.

“Left with Chris and the Calaveras,” Derek informs him. “She’s hunting the Desert Wolf.”

“Right.” Stiles doesn’t know what to do with this information. “So, uh, are you two still–?”

“Together? No,” Derek interjects, and to Stiles delight he doesn’t look too put off about it. He likes Braeden, he does, she’s badass and to be honest she scares him a little, but she’s also _not in Beacon Hills_ and _Derek Hale is single again_.

His euphoria comes crashing down at the next thought. _Well, why would he be interested in you even then? You’re just you, and he’s a badass wolf._

Predictably, Stiles’s entire mood is ruined, which makes any conversation even more stilted and awkward. Finally, Derek excuses himself, and Stiles watches him leave too from his doorway. He feels considerably more alone than he did after Malia left.

**7**

Another proof that his life is a huge dump of irony is Liam’s phone call.

Stiles is ~~moping~~ lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling when Liam calls. He’s not really inclined to pick up the phone, but he remembers what Coach said. Besides, the kid is like a little brother to him now.

“Hey, I need your help.” Liam sounds uncertain, hesitant even.

Stiles sits up at once. “What’s happening? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Liam answers hastily. “Nothing’s wrong! I just needed your advice.”

Stiles lets out a sigh of relief and lies back down. “Okay, go on.”

Liam sounds even more hesitant as he begins speaking. “So, uh, I’ve been noticing how Scott is around Kira, and uh, you too, you know, and I just wanted to know, um–”

“Wait, noticing me what?” asks Stiles, confused.

“You know, _you_ and the way you act around Derek, so I just wanted to ask you how do you ask someone out because I really _really_ want to but I have no idea and I thought you’d know and I didn’t want to call Scott because–” He’s talking so fast Stiles can barely make out individual words, but he does catch Derek’s name.

“You heard me,” Liam says, like he didn’t just prattle on at the speed of light.

“Yes but that doesn’t mean I understood,” Stiles points out. “What do you mean, how I act around Derek?”

“Well, _you know_ ,” Liam replies pointedly.

“No, I don’t,” Stiles says stubbornly. He doesn’t know what Liam’s going on about – he doesn’t act any way around Derek, except for being an asshole. They’re assholes to each other. That’s just how things work.

“You’re kidding,” scoffs Liam. He seems to have forgotten what he’d originally called about. “You two are the biggest case of UST and denial I’ve ever seen, and I’ve only seen you interact _once_. It’s nauseating.”

“There is no UST or denial,” Stiles says heatedly. Kid doesn’t know what the fuck he’s on about.

It’s not that obvious, is it?

“It is,” confirms Liam, and Stiles facepalms when he realizes he said that out loud. “It’s so obvious I half-expected you to start screwing any moment. Like, _literally_. You’d be too busy screwing to realize that I’d wolfed out and eaten everyone else.”

“Werewolves don’t eat people… I think,” Stiles replies absently – his entire body is tingling and he’s pretty sure his face is flushed red.

“Wow.” Liam actually sounds impressed. “That’s the best case of denial I’ve ever seen. Of everything I’ve said, that’s literally all you heard.”

Stiles decides enough is enough. He’s not going to hear tales of his incompetence in the love area from a _child_. “Okay, first of all,” he says crossly, “you used the word ‘literally’ wrong. Secondly – _there is no UST.”_

“Deniaaaaaal,” sings Liam. Idiot is enjoying this shit, realizes Stiles. He’s getting a fucking kick out of it. “Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, K I S S I N –”

Stiles cuts him off. “You are in _high school_ ,” he informs Liam. “Act like it.”

There is actual _laughter_. Liam is _laughing_ at him. _Liam is laughing at him_. Stiles thinks he may have a coronary. “You little shit,” he tells Liam.

“I’m not the one with his head so far up his own ass he can’t even admit he’s got _feefees for Derbear_ –”

“What the fuck, Liam?”

“Just admit it, Stiles,” Liam says happily.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Liam’s tone abruptly serious. “You should talk to him, though. Like, seriously. Just go talk to him.”

Stiles’s response is a snort. “Yeah, and get my ass handed to me? No thanks.”

“He’s not gonna do that!” Liam contradicts. “Come on, Stiles, I’m pretty sure he likes you just as much as you like him.”

“You’ve literally only seen us interact just that once,” Stiles points out. “How would you even know?”

“Well, it’s kind of really obvious,” Liam tells him. “You know, with the staring, and the wordless conversations, and all that.”

Stiles rubs his left temple a little where he feels a headache forming. “So you think I should talk to him?” He’s not sure how he feels about taking relationship advice from a freshman, but then again Liam does have a point.

Wow. What even is his life. You know you’re screwed when a freshman can see what you can’t.

“Totally,” Liam confirms. “And even if he doesn’t feel the same way – well, you’re already assholes to each other. It can’t get any worse, can it?”

“Actually, it can, but your naïve optimism is appreciated nevertheless,” Stiles tell him. He sighs. “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”

“For what it’s worth,” Liam says, “I think it won’t be for nothing.”

Stiles pauses, not knowing what to say. There seems to be something stuck in his throat. Finally he manages, “Thanks, Liam. See you in school.”

“Bye, Stiles.”

He hangs up. Stiles is left staring at his phone. He goes into his contacts and hovers hesitantly over _Derek_ for a few seconds. To call or not to call. That is the question.

He stares at Derek’s name until the letters blur together and nothing makes sense. He feels nauseous, can taste bile in the back of his throat. For fuck’s sake, if this is just what _thinking_ of calling Derek does to him…

**8**

He wakes up in the middle of the night with a strangled gasp, Derek’s blood on his hands and his name on his lips. It’s not until he turns on the lamp and looks at his hands does he realize that it was just a dream, and Derek’s not dead. There is no blood.

It takes him a few more seconds to calm himself down, to breathe a little slower and ignore the jackhammering of his heart against his ribcage. That was one of the more vivid nightmares, the one that had him struggling to sleep afterwards. They occurred more frequently right after his return from Mexico, but they’d gotten fewer and far between as the time passed. This one’s hit him like a motherfucking freight train.

He grabs his phone from the night stand and scrolls down to Derek’s name, debating whether or not to call. It’s the middle of the night, and he knows that if he calls all that will happen is that he’ll choke up once he hears Derek’s voice, and then Derek will get worried and drive over to see if he’s okay, and then there’ll be a huge clusterfuck.

Derek will drive over to see if he’s okay.

He knows Derek cares at least that much. He also knows that if he calls just for reassurance, Derek will provide it. Derek will talk him out of his state of semi-panic, and he won’t think anything of it or ever hold it against him. But even then Stiles can’t make himself swipe the screen and call him.

Just a swipe, and he can talk to Derek.

But he also can’t.

He sighs in frustration, not knowing what to do. He knows he can call Scott, or even Liam, but it’s not going to help. He also knows that when his dad returns from his night shift and sees his red eyes and sallow skin in the morning he’ll worry himself sick and Stiles already hates himself enough as it is. He doesn’t need an added layer of _holy shit I am hurting my dad so much_ on top of it all.

It’s the thought of his dad that seems to be the turning point – before he can even think about it he’s swiped his thumb across the screen and it now says _Dialing… Derek_. He stares at it in apprehension for a second, and then decides _fuck it_ and puts it to his ear.

Derek picks up on the third ring, sounding groggy but also tense. “Stiles, is everything okay?”

Stiles swallows. Derek’s _voice_. He _can’t_. He can’t go through with this.

“Yeah,” he manages to choke out. “I just…” What? He just what? “Nothing. Sorry to wake you up.”

“Stiles?” Derek asks cautiously. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Stiles’s hands are shaking, and he’s trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He’s not sure he’s succeeding, though, going by Derek’s concerned tone.

“Stiles–”

“I’m fine,” Stiles interjects forcefully. “Go back to sleep, Derek. Sorry I called.” It comes out a lot harsher than he means it to, and he winces. And before Derek can reply, he hangs up.

His screen lights up a second later. _Incoming Call… Derek_. He rejects it and throws his phone aside, pulling the covers up over his head. He leaves the lamp on.

**9**

He’s just managed to fall into some uneasy semblance of sleep when a scratching sound rouses him. He sits up straight in bed, hand automatically extending towards the baseball bat he’s taken to keeping under his bed. It takes him a moment to fully come to his senses and look towards the window.

Derek’s right outside, knocking insistently and looking a little irritated but also worried. Stiles feels like there’s a rock lodged in his throat and his insides are made of lead, but still he gets up and opens the window. “Dude, I told you I was okay!” he hisses at Derek in greeting, standing aside to let him in.

Derek narrows his eyes. “You expected me to believe you?” he asks incredulously. “And don’t call me dude,” he adds.

“Look, I’m sorry I woke you up, it was stupid of me, but really, I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles replies, stressing the last word. He stands with his arms held wide for emphasis. “See? Nothing wrong with me.”

Derek is, of course, not at all convinced. “Stiles, please,” he scoffs, sitting down in Stiles’s desk chair. “You called me, you made me worry, and now I’ve driven all the way here so you better sit down and tell me what’s wrong, okay?”

Stiles’s mind is still stuck on _you made me worry._  “I – you were worried?” he asks softly, not knowing how to deal with this little piece of information.

“ _Of course_ I was worried,” Derek replies impatiently, but stops when he sees the look on Stiles’s face. “Stiles,” he says, tone gentle and cautious both at once. “Stiles, what is this about?”

Stiles puts his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “Nothing,” he replies, voice muffled. He feels cold all of a sudden. “I – it’s nothing, Derek.”

“It’s obviously not nothing,” Derek insists. “Stiles, _tell me so I can help you.”_

“Fine!” Stiles bursts out, looking up. “Fine! It’s you, okay? That’s the problem! You went and nearly got yourself killed, and then you made me leave and I had no fucking idea if you were dead or alive and I was terrified, okay, I was _scared half to death_ and then you’re completely okay and Derek, what the fuck am I supposed to do? I can’t stop seeing it! I can’t stop seeing you dying!”

He stops to catch his breath. Derek’s looking at him in shock, mouth slightly open. “Stiles,” he tries.

“Look, you don’t have to explain, okay?” Stiles grinds out in frustration. “I get it. I’m being an idiot, and it’s my problem and not yours. You don’t need to say it, okay?”

“Say what?” asks Derek, looking like he has absolutely no fucking idea what Stiles is talking about. “Stiles, what are you talking about?”

“Forget it.” Stiles’s voice is hollow. “Just–” he waves a hand towards the window. “Just go back home and go back to sleep, okay?”

“You know I can’t do that.” Derek gets up from the chair and moves to sit next to Stiles on the bed. “You know that I can’t just leave you here when you’re clearly not okay.”

“Why does it matter?” asks Stiles, flinching a little when Derek’s elbow comes in contact with his. Normally he’d welcome it, being a very tactile person, but now… he can’t. Not when he’s just made Derek drive over for just a stupid, senseless phone call.

“It matters to me,” Derek answers softly. He’s looking earnestly at Stiles, his expression so open and unmasked it hurts Stiles a little to see. “Stiles, I don’t know what this is about, or what you’re thinking, but you know I _do_ actually care about you, right?” At Stiles’s incredulous and surprised expression, Derek’s eyebrows almost vanish into his hairline. “You didn’t know.”

Stiles shakes his head no. “You do have a habit of throwing me into walls, you know.”

“I haven’t thrown you into anything in a year,” Derek points out. “Though believe me, there are time when I’d like nothing better.”

Instead of arguing, Stiles just gives him a little self-deprecating smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“For someone so smart, you are being incredibly dense right now,” Derek informs him. When Stiles opens his mouth to argue, Derek goes right across. “No, shut up and _listen to me._ You know what happened right before Kate kidnapped me? Just after we got the Nogitsune out of you?”

Stiles shakes his head again, confused. Where’s Derek going with this? What’s the fucking Nogitsune got to do with anything? Stiles has a hard time getting over that as is, why does Derek have to bring it up?

“Okay, well, she shot me. And I don’t know what happened after that, except that I kind of… got lost inside my own head? I don’t know.” Derek’s looking at him as he talks, and Stiles squirms a little under his gaze. It’s a bit too much right now, regardless of how lovely Derek’s eyes are. “And Stiles… I saw you. I had an entire conversation with you, _inside my head.”_

Stiles gapes at that. He opens his mouth, and closes it again when he’s got nothing to say. Derek’s watching him closely, clearly gauging his reaction. Finally, Stiles manages a weak, “Well, I’ve always said you need to get your head checked.”

Derek glares at him. “Stiles,” he says, in a tone that indicates just how thin his patience is stretched right now. Stiles has a funny way of bringing out that side of Derek.

“Okay yeah, sorry,” apologizes Stiles, turning over that information in his head. “Go on.”

“We were in the school locker room. No,” he adds firmly when Stiles opens his mouth, wanting to crack a joke. Since when can Derek read him this well? “And I was telling you about the Calaveras coming to talk to me, and Kate,” Derek goes on. “And I asked you… how do you know it’s real? And you told me–”

“To count fingers,” Stiles finishes softly, understanding.

Derek nods. “So I took your hand, and you had six fingers,” he finishes. “Stiles… my point in telling you this is – would I have seen you, if I didn’t care? Why you, and no one else?”

Stiles looks at him, eyes a little wide. “I’m kinda wondering that myself,” he tells Derek.

“And when we were in Mexico again – I never would have told you to go if Scott and Kira’s lives hadn’t been at stake,” Derek tells him, an imploring expression on his face. Stiles doesn’t know why Derek’s being so open all of a sudden. It’s a change, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Stiles…” Derek’s been saying his name so many times it doesn’t even make sense anymore. Stiles thinks there’s a phrase for that, semantic satiation or something, but his brain’s not functioning very well right now (thanks, Derek) and so he’s not sure.

“If I was dying,” Derek says softly, and Stiles notices how the light from the lamp hits his face at all the right angles, illuminating his cheekbones. “If I was dying, there is no one I’d like to be with me more than you.”

A very loud silence follows the admission. Stiles finds, not for the first time, he’s a bit speechless. For Derek to acknowledge something like that, to actually say it out loud… “Why are you telling me this?” he asks, and his voice cracks a little.

“Because you should know,” Derek replies. “I thought you’d already figured it out.”

“I hadn’t,” Stiles informs him, somewhat redundantly.

Derek snorts. “So I noticed.”

There is another silence. This is starting to be a regular occurrence, and Stiles decides he doesn’t like it. Liam was right, it turns out. The little twerp was right, and Derek does care. It’s a little strange to admit that to himself, but not in a bad way.

 _I like Derek,_ he thinks, letting himself admit it. _I really do like Derek_. A lot. If he can admit it to himself, he can admit it to Derek. Right?

There’s just one thing.

“What about Braeden?” he asks.

Derek looks a bit surprised. “What about her?”

“You and her, you know,” Stiles says, waving his arms about a little.

“No,” Derek tells him. “I don’t think it would have lasted, anyway.”

“No?” echoes Stiles. “Why not?” He asks, not because he cares (he doesn’t), but because he’s curious.

Derek offers him a wry smile. Stiles notes how close they are, and he feels goosebumps rise along his forearms. “Well,” Derek says, “probably because I spent more time thinking about you than her.”

Two seconds later, Stiles’s brain goes completely blank. Derek Hale is kissing him. _Derek Hale._ Is kissing him. _Derek Hale is kissing him!!!_ He thinks that if he does die of a heart attack right now, he would still die happy. It’s not actually such a wild thought, considering how fast his heart is beating right now.

He’s so busy frozen in stunned delight that he doesn’t actually register the sensation of Derek’s lips on his until Derek moves apart, a quizzical expression on his face. “Stiles?” he questions. “What’s wrong?”

It hits Stiles that maybe he looks like an idiot, with his eyes wide and mouth open. Also that maybe his reaction (or lack thereof, as it were) is sending Derek the wrong message. This thought is confirmed when Derek repeats, “Did I do something wrong?”

Stiles shakes himself out of it. “Absolutely,” he tells Derek, very seriously. “Why the hell did you stop? You weren’t supposed to.”

Derek scoffs and grins in a _what did I even expect_ manner, before leaning in again. “In that case,” he murmurs, “let’s carry on, shall we?”

Stiles is absolutely, 100% in agreement with this idea. He expresses this agreement by closing the distance between them and kissing Derek like his life depends on it. Now that it’s confirmed that he’s not hallucinating, or dreaming; that actual Derek Hale is in his actual bedroom actually kissing him (what was that about semantic satiation? Stiles doesn’t remember; he’s too busy with more important things) – now that it’s real, and Stiles knows it’s real, he lets his brain catalogue every sensation, every scent, every spot where Derek’s touching him. Derek’s lips are just as soft as his fingers are callused, and the opposing sensations feel much better than they have any right to be.

Stiles thinks he might be addicted to kissing Derek. And it’s only been a minute or so.

They only stop when air becomes an issue, because Derek may be some kind of super werewolf now but that doesn’t mean he can function without oxygen, and Stiles is, well, human. He doesn’t know what he’s expecting now, but it’s definitely not for Derek to rest his forehead against Stiles’s, their noses bumping together lightly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” Derek admits. He runs his fingers through Stiles’s hair, and oh perfect, now there are more fucking goosebumps everywhere. Not that Stiles minds, of course.

“Me too,” he confesses to Derek a moment later. “Longer than I knew myself.”

“Funny how things work.”

“Yeah. Who’d have thought Liam was right?”

Derek looks amused, but also a little wary. “Liam?”

Stiles grins. “Yeah. Long story.”

It’s obvious from Derek’s expression that he’s trying to resist the urge to ask. He succeeds, Stiles thinks mainly because he’s come to expect weird things from both Stiles and Scott, and adding Liam to the mix probably isn’t good for his health.

“Are you going to stay?” Stiles asks after a comfortable silence, during which neither of them have moved from their positions.

“Do you want me to?” inquires Derek.

“Hell yeah,” Stiles tells him enthusiastically, moving over and creating some more space on his bed. “You’d be an asshole of epic proportions if you ditched my ass right after giving me the best kiss of my entire life.”

Derek huffs in amusement, and moves to take up the newly-vacated space.

**10**

They fall asleep soon after, Derek settled behind Stiles with an arm slung over his waist. For once, Stiles has exactly zero issues with being the little spoon. And the correct Hale is in his bed. He goes to sleep feeling lighter than he has in a very long time.

There are no more nightmares after that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is the absolute best. Like, Stiles-and-Derek's-first-kiss kind of best.
> 
> Love,  
> Remy


End file.
